gar cruet that Miss Prudence had coaxed away from the old lady; her
city friends would rave over them, she said. The old lady had laughed,
remarking that "city folks" had ways of their own.

"I've given away a whole set of dishes to folks that come in the yachts,"
she said. "I should think you would rather have new dishes."

Miss Prudence never dusted her old possessions; she told Marjorie that
she had not the heart to disturb the dust of ages.

Marjorie was tempted to linger and linger; in winter this room was closed
and seemed always bare and cold when she peeped into it; there was no
temptation to stay one moment; and now she had to tear herself away. It
must be Miss Prudence's spirit that brooded over it and gave it sweetness
and sunshine. This was the way Marjorie put the thought to herself. The
child was very poetical when she lived alone with herself. Miss
Prudence's wicker work-basket with its dainty lining of rose-tinted silk,
its shining scissors and gold thimble, with its spools and sea-green silk
needlebook was a whole poem to the child; she thought the possession of
one could make any kind of sewing, even darning stockings, very
delightful work. "Stitch, stitch, stitch," would not seem dreadful, at
all.

How mysterious and charming it was to board by the seashore with
somebody's grandfather! And then, in winter, to go back to some
bewildering sort of a fairyland! To some kind of a world where people did
not talk all the time about "getting along" and "saving" and "doing
without" and "making both ends meet." How Marjorie's soul rebelled
against the constant repetition of those expressions! How she thought she
would never _let_ her little girls know what one of them meant! If she
and her little girls had to be saving and do without, how brave they
would be about it, and laugh over it, and never ding it into anybody's
ears! And she would never constantly be asking what things cost! Miss
Prudence never asked such questions. But she would like to know if that
gold pen cost so very much, and that glass inkstand shaped like a
pyramid, and all that cream note-paper with maple tassels and autumn
leaves and butterflies and ever so many cunning things painted in its
left corners. And there was a pile of foolscap on the table, and some
long, yellow envelopes, and some old books and some new books and an
ivory paper-cutter; all something apart from the commonplace world she
inhabited. Not apart from the world her tho